Tell Me Something Good (2 page)

Mrs. St. Denis frowned. “Wei I don’t want
another gallery or museum brought in. If you can’t handle a
collection of this magnitude—”

“I meant myself and Lyrissa,” Mr. Taylor
broke in quickly. “No, no. Taylor Gallery would handle everything.
Ms. Rideau has a master’s degree in fine art and is working on her
Ph.D. in art history. She has over twelve hours of course work from
Lindenwood University in professional fine art evaluation.”

Mrs. St. Denis looked at Lyrissa carefully
for the first time. “Really?”

Lyrissa smiled. “Yes. My particular interest
is Louisiana Creole art, especially the influence of immigrants who
came to New Orleans from St. Dominique,” Lyrissa said, meeting Mrs.
St. Denis’s gaze with confidence. Though upper crust Creoles could
still make Lyrissa feel socially inferior, she had no doubts about
her credentials.

“Very good.” Mrs. St. Denis nodded to her
slightly, then turned to Mr. Taylor again. “Noel’s secretary will
get you a list of the collection.”

Mr. Taylor smiled with relief and joy.
“Excellent! Then we—”

“Wait,” Mrs. St. Denis raised a hand as
though she were a queen shushing a subject. “It’s not
complete.”

“I don’t understand. You don’t have a
complete list?” Mr. Taylor’s bushy brows came together.

Noel cleared his throat “Not complete in the
sense that some of the descriptions are vague. For example,
pictures may be described without naming the artist. And in some
instances we’re not sure which relatives have what pieces.”

“How many items are we talking about?”
Lyrissa asked through clenched teeth. She’d thought locating her
family’s painting would be the easy part.

“We’re not sure,” he said with a lift of one
shoulder.

“You own possibly the most important private
collection of Creole and French art in the south, and you don’t
know where most of it is?” Lyrissa blurted out before she could
stop herself.

“All the pieces are in the family,” Mrs. St.
Denis said crisply. Her light brown eyes flashed a warning
signal.

Mr. Taylor rushed in to head off the rising
storm. “I’m sure the entire collection has been well cared for. The
St. Denis family has a reputation for refined tastes and a keen
appreciation of fine artwork.”

“Precisely.” Mrs. St. Denis gave Lyrissa one
last scouring gaze before turning to Mr. Taylor. “Apparently your
employee isn’t familiar with our family history.”

Lyrissa realized she’d made a tactical error.
Her grand-mother had warned her hundreds of times about her smart
mouth. She affected an apologetic expression. Noel seemed about to
say something—to rescue her? She wondered—but hurried to reply, “I
certainly didn’t mean to imply otherwise, Mrs. St. Denis. It’s just
such a surprise, given the value of your collection. I do know that
your hard work and attention to detail made Tremé Corporation what
it is today.”

The older woman’s severe expression relaxed
in the face of a personal compliment “Well, my husband and I built
the business together.” She sighed. “But the young woman has a
point. There’s no excuse for not having a complete list.”

Lyrissa said a silent prayer of thanks. At
least her quick tongue had gotten her out of this tight spot.
“Actually it’s not uncommon in large, wealthy families for art to
be spread out.” She smiled widely at the older woman.

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Taylor said. “Now I’ll go
over our con-tract with you.”

“I’ll go out front to make sure Kevin doesn’t
need help in the gallery. I look forward to seeing you both again,”
Lyrissa said, smiling at Mrs. St Denis and then eyeing Noel. She
closed the door behind her and clasped her hands together.
“Yes!”

She was still grinning when she walked to the
main gallery. Kevin had arranged the placement of a cast iron
sculpture of three dancers in flight on a granite pedestal. He
stood back, both hands on his narrow hips, to examine his
handiwork.

“How’s that, Lyrissa?” he asked.

“Perfect. Any customers here?”

“A lady is in the red room looking at the
paintings. I’ll bet she’s just killing time on her lunch hour.”

“How can you tell?” Lyrissa played their
usual game. Mr. Taylor had trained the young man to spot the
serious customers with money to spend.

Kevin grinned. “For one thing, she acted too
snooty to me. Real rich folks don’t waste any time on us little
people. They don’t see you at all.”

Lyrissa laughed. “You’ve learned well, my
son. Take those two,” she said gesturing toward Mr. Taylor’s
office. “They’re the real thing. Old money and old family
name.”

“I gotcha. We better smile when they treat us
like dirt.” Kevin joined her in laughter. “I’ll get back to the
salt mines.” He headed for the storage room again.

Noel St. Denis stepped from behind a wide
decorative screen that came from Madagascar. “We’re not as bad as
you think.”

“Oh I, uh ...” Lyrissa looked into his shrewd
eyes and decided flattery wouldn’t work She gave him her most
winning smile. “You got me.”

He smiled back. “It’s okay. Grandmother is
used to being in charge.”

“Mrs. St. Denis is still with Mr. Taylor?”
Lyrissa glanced over his shoulder.

“Yes.” He walked around looking at the art on
display. “The agreement seems fine. They’re just chatting about
mutual acquaintances.”

Lyrissa followed him at a respectful
distance, as she did with most wealthy customers. He stopped in
front of a wooden sculpture by Frank Hayden. Noel circled the panel
of smooth walnut fashioned in swirls. While he studied the art,
Lyrissa studied him. Her first impression had not changed: he was
one fine man. Yet she felt sure he had an inflated ego to match his
good looks. His bearing said he was as used to getting his way and
being in charge as his grandmother. Watching them together, it was
obvious that he was the apple of his grandmother’s eye— handsome,
spoiled, and arrogant, Lyrissa mused. One tall package of
everything she detested. Or should. He turned to face her, his
striking face radiant with pleasure. Unexpectedly, desire flowed
through her body like warm milk.

“The wood seems to pulsate with energy,” he
said in a reverent voice. “It tells a story, like a griot.”

She moved closer to him as though drawn by a
magnet. “The lines are sinuous, inviting you to touch it. You’d
expect it to be warm like a living thing.”

“Yes,” he said, now looking at her instead of
the sculpture. “So beautiful, it’s hard not to touch it.”

Lyrissa watched the movement of his lips. His
words seemed directed at her, not at the sculpture. She tried hard
to ignore the insistent prickle in her hips as she stepped away
from him.

“Of course, that’s the genius of a great
artist, to breathe life into his creation. He makes us feel it as
much as see it,” she murmured, still staring at his mouth in
fascination.

Noel gazed into her eyes steadily and took a
step to-ward her. “I definitely feel it.”

The room, indeed the whole world, tilted in
his direction. The air between them crackled with electricity—at
least, that’s what Lyrissa would have sworn at that moment. Then
Kevin walked in.

“I think they sent us the wrong catalogues,”
Kevin said, peeling stiff cellophane wrapping from a package.

“What?” Lyrissa felt a bit dazed.

“These are for some medical supply company.”
Kevin held up a stack of glossy brochures. The wrapping snapped and
crackled as he wadded it up into a compact ball.

Kevin glanced from her to Noel, who was now
studying the dancers’ sculpture. “Oops, bad timing. Sorry.”

“No, no. We’re talking about the art,”
Lyrissa stammered.

The young man gave her a puzzled look.
“Right, you’re with a customer. You okay?”

“Fine. I’ll, uh, look at those later, Kevin,”
she said.

Lyrissa gave him a thin smile. Kevin nodded,
and then left. Noel hovered near, the subtle scent of his cologne
drifting out to tickle her nose. She fought the urge to close her
eyes and follow it until their faces touched.

“You know, I’m not that educated on art.
Maybe you could teach me more,” Noel said, an inviting inflection
in his tone.

“I...”

Lyrissa shivered with anticipation at
spending hours alone with him. Before she could make a more
coherent reply, the front door opened. A tall, elegantly dressed
woman came in. She wore a short olive wrap skirt and an ivory
cotton blouse.

“Noel, I can’t believe my eyes!”

“Hello, Felice.” Noel met the woman halfway
and they embraced.

Felice took off her sunglasses. She glanced
at the ex-pensive watch on her slim brown wrist. “My God! It’s ten
in the morning and you’re not hard at work conquering the business
world,” she teased.

“I manage to stumble out into the sunshine
now and then,” he said with a soft laugh.

Lyrissa felt another shiver at the sound.
Then reality bit hard. The haze she’d been in dissipated and she
saw clearly. Felice Gerard was from another old Creole family. As
she and Noel exchanged pleasantries and referred to a party they’d
both attended, Lyrissa felt the familiar feeling. It was as though
she stood looking through the window of an exclusive club she could
never join. Felice threw her head back and let out a silvery
laugh.

“Oh, Noel! You’re so funny,” she trilled, a
delighted expression on her face.

“Actually the party wasn’t so bad. At least
no one got drunk and fell into the fountain this time,” he said
with a devilish glint in his eyes.

“I’ll be in my office if either of you needs
assistance,” Lyrissa said and nodded to her small office. It was
located right near the entrance. A glass wall allowed her to see
the front door and into the main gallery.

Noel turned to her. “I’m sorry, Lyrissa. This
is Felice Gerard. This is—”

“I come here all the time. Hello.” Felice
waved a hand at Lyrissa as though her name wasn’t important.

“Good morning,” Lyrissa said stiffly. She
fought to maintain a smile.

“I’m going to rent art for our annual
sorority charity function. You know, it dresses up the club
ballroom,” Felice went on.

“Then Ms. Rideau will be able to help you.
She’s an ex-pert,” Noel said and moved to stand beside Lyrissa.

Felice raised one delicately arched eyebrow
as she looked at them. “Ye-es, 1'11 bet.”

That was the last dash of cold water Lyrissa
needed. The mystique of Noel St. Denis had been effectively doused.
“Excuse me,” Lyrissa said in a flat tone and headed to her office,
leaving the door open. Once inside, she opened a folder without
reading its contents. Instead she listened carefully to Noel’s and
Felice’s conversation.

Mr. Taylor came out of his office with Mrs.
St. Denis. He held the elderly woman’s elbow lightly. “I’m
certainly looking forward to seeing the famous St. Denis
collection. To think I’ll be the one that will unite it under one
roof.” Mrs. St. Denis patted her gray hair. “We might even arrange
an exhibit at a local museum.”

Mr. Taylor’s eyes widened with pure joy.
“That’s a fantastic idea! I could contact the New Orleans Museum of
Art right now. I know the curator and she’ll be downright ecstatic
at the prospect.”

“First things first, Mr. Taylor,” Mrs. St.
Denis said. “We need an appraisal. We’re considering a limited sale
at some point.”

Lyrissa’s head snapped up at that. A sale?
She had to move fast, then. In today’s market, a Jules Joubert
painting would bring on serious high bidding from collectors. Yet
the painting was not theirs to sell.

“Hello, Mrs. St. Denis,” Felice called out
gaily. “Did I hear you say something about an art auction? Why,
that would be a wonderful fundraiser for the St. Mary’s Academy
booster committee. We could—”

“Hello, Felice,” Mrs. St. Denis cut in with a
dry tone.

“How is your grandmother? I hope Charlotte is
feeling better after her fall.”

“Grandmother is a resilient lady. She didn’t
even break a bone. Remarkable, for a woman her age. But then, we’re
a strong breed.” Felice flashed a toothy smile.

“Charlotte was always a tough old bird,” Mrs.
St. Denis tossed back.

“Er, yes.” Felice blinked at her rapidly.

“Goodbye, Mr. Taylor,” Mrs. St. Denis said.
“We’ll be in touch soon.” She glanced at Felice without affection.
“Goodbye, Felice. Noel, I’ve kept you away from the office too
long. I’m ready,” she added before Felice could answer.

Noel shot a significant look at his
grandmother, but she seemed not to notice. “Nice to see you,
Felice.”

“Give me a call,” Felice purred. “Daddy is
having one of his famous fishing events at our camp in a couple of
weeks. You’d love it.”

“I’ll get back to you,” Noel said.

“Be sure you do,” she said, dropping her
voice to a soft, intimate timbre. Felice walked away from him with
hips swaying.

Lyrissa watched from her vantage point and
rolled her eyes. Oh, please, she muttered to herself.

“I’ll get the car in a minute, Grandmother. I
want to say goodbye to Ms. Rideau,” Noel said and headed to
Lyrissa’s office.

Mrs. St. Denis pursed her thin lips in an
expression of displeasure, but said nothing. She nodded
distractedly as Mr. Taylor prattled on excitedly about the
collection. Noel strolled into Lyrissa’s office as though he
belonged there. Noting his serene confidence, Lyrissa was sure
there had never been a time when he didn’t feel he belonged.

She stiffened her spine, determined to resist
his unsettling ability to get her blood pumping. Thinking about the
wide social gulf between them helped, a little. A small shock of
heat went down her back when he walked right up to her.

“Thanks for the personal attention,” Noel
said with a winning smile that could soften any heart of stone.

Lyrissa put on a reserved smile. “We work
hard to give special treatment to all our clients.”